


Suffice

by Batty



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate & Destiny, Fireverse, Imprisonment, Insecurity, Inspired By Tumblr, Self Confidence Issues, Sickfic, Slow Build, Touching, a strangely sweet sort of love considering the situation, because elsa doesn't know affection and hans doesn't understand it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batty/pseuds/Batty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the infamous Arendelle snowstorm, the sodden kingdom quickly settles into a sort of normalcy. Or as normal as it could be with the Dragon Prince imprisoned in the royal dungeons and the Snow Queen herself secretly visiting him when her nightmares became too much.</p><p>See, it’s easy to love a monster when you’re one yourself.</p><p>Fireverse!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by gel-du-cerveau's brilliant fireverse AU, the one that kept me sane and happy during finals. I felt I owed a tribute, so I have a couple of chapters lined up with the hope that motivation will strike for me to finish up. 
> 
> Also--background on those who don't know. Fireverse is an AU where Prince Hans has fire powers, ones that were actively suppressed by his family via 'Doctors' and regular visits to the water bath, suffocation style. The final battle between Elsa and Hans is dragged out at the end of the movie, so that he changes into a rather terrifying dragon-like creature that proceeds to duel it out between her ice powers. 
> 
> My personal addition to this is that Elsa finds herself unable to reverse everything at the end with the snowstorm. She can stop it, yes, but the 'love as a solution' thing just doesn't pan out. More on this later. Enjoy!

Elsa had never quite been sure where to limit her powers.

She knew how to keep them almost completely hidden, yes, to push the creeping chill down until her bones shook with the force of it, but holding back when they were already loose was a struggle. An avalanche she could manage with barely a snap of her fingers, but controlling its speed, its intensity—that was another feat altogether. 

Nothing seemed to tire her and no warning signal seemed to exist for when she was pushing it a bit too far. She could summon palaces from the ground and bury countries in yards of snow with barely a thought, but it took far more concentration on her part to even  _begin_  to push it back. So it stood that the only way she could tell when she as pushing it too far were the reactions of those around her, a notoriously biased system.

Therefore, when Prince Hans of the Southern Isles screamed at the onslaught of her powers, it was her first instinct to stop right then.

And against all sense and repercussions, she did.

Her hands shook as she held them against her stomach. Gasping from the sudden fear, Elsa barely heard Kristoff’s cries for her to keep going, to give the fire bastard what he had coming. She was half tempted to, but even her basest morals cried out at having to attack him again. The prince still hadn't stood up.

The ice around him was even now melting rapidly, a small pool forming where he stood. He laid curled there, shivering madly, as the light finally tore through the clouds of steam around them.

Their fight had been long, and the fronts of fire and ice had met explosively. Much of the town was damaged in some way, or from what she could see while busy dodging great currents of flame and the vicious claws of the prince.

Elsa clutched hers hands closer to herself, watching him. Would he stand? Conjure another ball of fire, another wall of flames, turn everything she built to shambles? Try and kill her again? Do  _worse_?

Her worries appeared to be shared by everyone, as they all held their breaths in preparation for him to stand and roar flames again.

He didn't. He didn't even try.

All Hans, former prince of the Southern Isles, did was lay in the puddle of ice water, trembling and choking for breath.

Many minutes later, the more courageous of the royal guard stepped  forward, weapons at the ready. The pathetic figure didn't so much as twitch. When one dared to take hold of his arm to pull him forward, there came one jerky punch that was easily dodged. Elsa shuddered at the sight. It wasn't resistance.

It was flailing.

When the guard attempted to again, grabbing harder this time, Hans barely even reacted, going limp in their arms. He only grunted when the other guard slapped him across the face. Then another hit. At the third time, he was completely silent and still, spare a dribble of blood oozing from his now split lip. Then again. Not even a twitch.

The crowd suddenly erupted in cheers. Elsa breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tightness in her chest unclench. The guards heaved him up and dragged him forward towards the castle, sopping wet and dripping the entire way. They brought him past her in the fanfare.

She glanced quickly at his face, and then turned away sharply in a gesture the guards mistook as dismissal. Anna was next to look at him, and judging by the look on her face, it was all she could do not to punch her former paramour. Kristoff looked like he would do worse than that, taking a step forward as if to lunge. But Anna’s arm linked in his kept him back.

Only when the guards and the crowd disappeared into the castle did Anna turn to her and smile, prompting her to return it. Elsa did, weakly.

Letting go of Kristoff, Anna moved forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Elsa, Elsa you did it! You’re the Queen! The people  _love_  you!” She came closer. “Elsa, you’re fantastic!“

Elsa went rigid, but Anna didn’t seem to notice. “It’s amazing, everything you can do and I’m so, so happy that everyone sees it now. And I especially can’t wait to make up all the time that I didn’t now, and ooh! Can we—“

A hand reached out to grab hers. Elsa winced at the same time Anna let out a cry. Kristoff, who had been watching with a faint smile on his face, rushed over to wrap an arm around the younger sister. “Anna?”

Anna stared at her hand, ice crusted as it was.

Elsa curled her arms around herself, leaning away. Her voice was soft. “Sorry, I don’t…I mean, I know how…but it’s still…” It died off slowly and she averted her eyes. She didn't know how to…

Before Anna could open her mouth to say anything, Elsa shook her head slightly and turned to follow her subjects into the castle.

They smiled at her too, wide and bright and exactly the way they  _hadn’t_  the first time they’d seen her powers.

She nodded her awareness and continued her slow walk, knowing Anna was right on her tail. Elsa didn't stop. She couldn't. Step by step, the memories of past poise lessons were all that kept her moving forward. Faces swam in and out of her vision, one specific image taking root in her mind and overlaying the rest.

Slitted eyes, jaw bloody and cracked.

Guileless eyes, mouth lowered in disappointment.

Green, both green and young and so, so easy to break.

Her breath was still fast, gasping from something that could almost be mistaken for exhilaration.

Flurries tingled the tips of her fingers as Elsa, Queen of all Arendelle and the lands immediately surrounding, told herself that everything was perfectly fine.

.

.

.

Nightmares were a regular occurrence for Elsa.

Sometimes it felt more shocking when she woke up without gasping or finding she’d torn her sheets to shreds with ice shards in her thrashing. Dreams like this were the reason why she had to keep tidy the room herself. There was too much chance of the maids happening upon a remnant of one of her fits if they were allowed in.

Although truly, it was the dreamless nights she feared most. Because then Elsa just found herself waking up to an empty, clean room and remembered that any nightmare she could possibly have would never be quite as horrifying as this.

Tonight was no different, in the same way it was.

Queen now, Elsa retired to a room much too large for her and clenched her eyes. When sleep finally did fall upon them, it was a rehearsal of the day previous, the same voices and faces fading in and out of her mind. She seized from location to location in the dream, never actually moving but just finding herself fixed there like a figure drawn in only afterwards. Blurred people smiled at her and she resisted the urge to gag.

And then, a change. Like she’d blinked away a stray piece of dust from her eyes, the dream went clear. Her feet felt solid. Her hands, like they fit her. Just as she clenched them to test their solidness, the world screamed pain and a roar of anger followed.

Heat rushed through the air around her, her ears echoing with the steps of the beast and the scratch-scritch of his jagged claws. Her chest seized, terror forcing her heart to pound so, so fast. It was right before her now, hot breath ghosting over her hair, teeth sharp and ready, eyes… _eyes_ …

Elsa looked up to see the beast.

And woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the not-really-edited chapter, I have a despairing lack of a beta.

It was madness.

Sheer, dumb madness. She'd never done an improper thing her entire time in the castle, barring a few unfortunate ice sculptures, and  _never_  anything like this.

Part of her mind was screaming for her to turn back, but she couldn't, she  _couldn't_. It was like there was a rope around her waist, tugging her forward and tightening the moment she thought about stopping. Like stopping was even an option anymore.

Elsa cursed under her breath as she froze the next lock to the dungeon door. It cracked under the strain, and broke away easily when she lifted the ice crystals. The heavy wooden door swung open.

She barely had time to decide whether or not she was actually going to go through with this before a low voice drawled, "And what could I have done to merit such an audience?"

Her heart leapt to her throat. The noose around her chest tightened. The answer was immediate, uncontrollable, and alarmingly void of bitterness, "Attempt to take my kingdom and kill my sister."

There was a beat of silence, which Elsa used to school her face into the comforting blankness she'd worn all her life. Her hands were shaking. He didn't respond. She turned towards the cells. Old and outdated as the dungeon was, there really was only one working cell left for them to place the traitor prince in. Her old one. A shiver ran through her.

They had managed to fix it in time, she would give them that. Although icicles still ran from the ceiling to the ground in the furthest corners, and the manacles were mangled beyond repair. No matter, as they were largely useless. In fact, the entire imprisonment was more for show as they could hardly ship the Dragon Prince back to his own land on-board a wooden ship, and they couldn't murder a member of nobility without consenting with his peers.

Right here, the best place for him was under her hand, the so called queen of ice that had slayed the dragon. Yes. Something in Elsa's eyes shuttered closed. She had to know if he was…

Her eyes snapped open at a sharp creaking. The heavy cell door was almost falling apart, only the recently added steel bolts keeping it from falling to the ground. Everything was held together by a bulky lock, the chains around the door crisscrossing into it. None of the guards had wanted to be placed too near the cell, choosing instead to guard the main entrance to the dungeons. It was simple enough for her to slip in through the side one.

One small window gave her view into the cell, but even then his face was shrouded in the darkness. She managed to keep herself from peering closer, feeling it improper, despite her curiosity. Was he still beast-like, or had he managed to school his image back into something resembling a human's? Could he even  _be_  human anymore?

Time passed horribly slowly and she heard him rustling, like he couldn't keep still. Finally--

"It can't have been my stunning good looks that drew you here. Or could it?"

She was silent to the provocation. She wasn't here to start a fight. She just wanted to know. Pursing her lips slightly, Elsa asked slowly the question that had been on her mind all day, "If sent to the Southern Isles, what would they do with you there?"

There was a low shuffling on the other side of the door, and another sound, like nails scraping over rock.

"Kill me. Or as good as," Hans said simply, his voice going rough. There was a sudden snarl. "You don't have to worry about my punishment there, your  _majesty_."

Elsa stifled the urge to retort that she hadn't meant it like that. Her hands twitched slightly with the impulse to blast something nasty at the door. Hans kept talking regardless, almost like he was addressing the air rather than her.

"Oh the good queen, here to comfort me in my moment of weakness. So  _caring_  about how her prisoner gets executed. Well, your majesty, shall I explain it to you? You may be familiar with it, considering you put me through the same. And how did you find out about that, may I ask? Did one of my brothers tell you? A servant? Oh,  _please_  tell me you didn't just guess."

"Guess what, exactly?"

The door of the cell shuddered as he slammed against it.

Elsa almost threw herself back, but instead her hand came up, shards of ice forming on her fingers. Bleary eyes stared through the slit of the window at her. Despite their sick haze, they burned.

Hans searched her for something, and scoffed when he failed to find it. "Of course." His voice was thick, emotion-laden, despite the nonchalant words, "Oh, you must be feeling so clever. Managed to work it out yourself, but how could I have expected different? This kingdom likely put you through the same. What was it, for you? Burning coals? A short stint in the sauna, with the heat turned up a tad too high? Hmm?  _White hot pokers, jabbed against your skin?"_  he hissed, pressing closer to the door with each word.

Small circles of red appeared on her side of the door, likely where he had his hands braced. Elsa acted quickly before he could burn through.

Placing her permanently frostbitten digits gingerly over the heated metal, she felt the steam hiss around her as it cooled. It gathered around her, and only once the door felt cool enough did she say finally, "I don't know what you're talking about. I have never been hurt by the people of this kingdom."

_"Lies."_

A churning feeling began gathering in her stomach as she began to put the pieces together. "It is the truth. And you," Elsa said smoothly, not wanting to appear too curious, "Were you hurt by the people of the Southern Isles?"

The silence stretched out, as if to fill the space between them. She could hear him moving behind the door, slumping against his side. Finally—

"No."

Before a strange relief had time to flourish, Hans continued, his voice almost too polite as he said quietly, "The royal family."

Without her quite meaning it, the floor at her feet lit up with crystals of ice that shone in the pale moonlight. He either didn't notice or didn't care.

"I was the thirteenth son. It was travesty enough I existed, much less be the monster parents warn their children about at bedtime. The throne couldn't handle the scandal. In the long run, it was better for them all not to know." A laugh. "Not that there's much chance of them  _not_  anymore."

It was true. The story of the Dragon Prince from the Southern Isles was doubtless being spread from tavern to tavern as they stood here, her inclusion in the tale likely an awed mention of the ice witch, the heroic figure.

For now, at least.

Suddenly his voice turned casual, remarking, "I know you're lying, by the way. I know how to tell when a prison was designed for specific purpose. I  _always_  have."

Elsa heard his breath go ragged on the other side of the door, and that other sound again, like nails sliding across the cobbles. She said nothing to his statement, although she understood the insinuation quite clearly. The manacles were built to resist the cold. The cell was built to resist the ice. The window was built to give her a view when she was scared. Yes, it was quite clear who that cell had been designed for.

And apparently, especially to him.

Emotions warred in her head, the spinning in her stomach speeding up at the bitter memory of Anna encased in ice. But that part of the story had been her fault, hadn't it? She couldn't blame him for her own selfishness. She was the one who had run. She was the one who had fooled herself into thinking escape was an option. She was the one who had struck her own sister with  _ice_.

Elsa stared down at her hands, watched the white crystals dance across her palms. They hardly seemed to calm now, after all she'd been using her powers lately. She wondered, vaguely, if it was the same for him.

That made her decision.

A calming breath and then, "Would you rather serve your penance here, or in the Southern Isles?" A strange nervousness filled her breast, prompting her to add unnecessarily, "I can arrange for either."

She expected Hans to see the chance she was giving him, to latch onto it like the selfish man he was, and when he spoke sharply—

"I don't care."

Something in her chest sunk. "What do you mean?"

"Send me there. Keep me here. Whatever pleases you. I don't give a damn which you decide."

"But, " Elsa began, about to say that she was confused, that hadn't he admitted that he would die if sent back to the Southern Isles, that they would—

Oh.

Things were quiet for a long while after that.

The only sign that he was still there on the other side, listening to her, were the sporadic wheezes of breath he gave. Elsa didn't say anything else, simply concentrated until the ice at her feet vanished.

She thought of Anna, of the way she had jumped in front of the dragon prince's assault for her. Guilt suddenly clawed its way up her throat. She'd saved her, risked everything, and  _saved_  her from the beast. And look where she was now. Ungrateful. So ungrateful.

Elsa suddenly found it quite necessary to return to her bed, before Anna could realize where she was. Sloshing through the growing puddle on the floor, she slipped away to the open passageway behind them.

Before she did, she laid one flickering white hand on the door's metal lock, until it cracked apart and fell to the ground. One last thing to do.

Elsa wrapped her cloak around herself and said, "You're wrong, if it matters any. The kingdom did not license the building of this prison. I did."

The cell creaked open moments after she left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I kinda wanted to explain (although we'll get more into this later) is that Elsa doesn't really blame Hans for trying to kill her. Yes, she can never forgive for trying to kill her sister or trying to take over the kingdom, but attempted assassination? 
> 
> In her mind, it was justified. It was something she'd been expecting someone to do ever since the day she put on those gloves. And is this a good thing? Hellllll nooooooooo. This girl's gotta learn how to blame people for hurting her and starting valuing her own life/well being. Elsa's gotta HATE. Who better to start with than this utterly unrepentant asshole?
> 
> So basically what i wanted to clarify is that Elsa is just as messed up as Hans just a little better at hiding it now lets goooooo
> 
> (also major thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments you guys are really sweet!!)

When Elsa woke up the next morning, she waited.

She waited as Anna skipped into her room and practically sat on her face to wake her up.

She waited as she was bodily dragged through the corridors and into the dining room for breakfast.

She waited as she sat through the morning reports from the various chancellors that oversaw the kingdom's treasuries and lands, trying her best to keep her focus and shoot down the various limiting requirements her advisers wanted to instate for citizens to lease farmland.

She waited so hard and for so long that by the end of the day her heart was going into arrest every time someone hurried into the room.

At her almost insistent overseeing, the guards had assumed she was judging their performance and had begun giving her updates every ten minutes as to the security of the castle. A few started puffing up their chests whenever they walked by and some superstitious ones had taken to carrying mirrors around. With every sighting of a guard that didn't look frantic or terrified, Elsa's heart sank.

She had broken the lock, yes?

She hadn't looked afterwards, but it had made a  _sound_  as it fell and she was near certain that everything was arranged. Wasn't it? Oh, she just didn't know!

In her preoccupation with playing the scene on loop in her head, Elsa found it hard to concentrate on anything else. She even accidentally knocked into a server during dinner, who'd promptly looked terrified at the disturbance and had begged forgiveness.

"I-I'm sorry, Snow Queen, I mean, your majesty, I—" the servant stuttered, wringing his hands as he tried to inch away.

Anna had jumped in that point, snarling like a feral dog about to snap someone's leg off. "That's not her name!"

Elsa had waved her off and nodded simply to the servant, with a soft order to be called the  _queen_ , and only that. It wasn't the first time she'd heard it of course--the kingdom apparently had a strange obsession with naming her the snow queen. And yes, she knew it was just the title going around in the story of Prince Hans' defeat, but she hoped against reason that it would end soon. The title made her uneasy.

After the long day was over, she waited the appropriate amount of time until Anna had gone to sleep in the room across from hers. She knew there was no use in sitting in bed all night, waiting for the nightmares to take her. There was a shifting under her skin, a call. She needed to know, to satisfy this growing curiosity, which she told herself was only that.

And so Elsa stopped waiting and grabbed her cloak, slipping it on as she hurried down the stairs. The dungeon was a short walk down, and faster now that she remembered how to navigate around without running into anyone.

At the last stair, Elsa stopped only once before swinging the door open. The sight before her was the same as the night before. But this time, the lock that she had left in shards on the floor appeared to be intact again, hanging limply from the chains near the window of the cell. The only sign it had been tampered with were the worn edges, the pieces seemingly welded together. She sighed, once.

The door gave a clatter. "Back again?"

"Yes," Elsa said, not seeing the point of pretending it wasn't her. "How have you been doing?"

There was a snort. "Your majesty, if this is your idea of small talk, I must advise that you get better etiquette tutors. And besides, there is no use building a repertoire with me. It evades common sense."

She hesitated for a moment, something about his tone striking her as strange. Did he always sound so hoarse? Several seconds passed before she realized that he was waiting for an answer. "I just wanted to know how you are dealing here, " Elsa replied honestly.

"Dreadful. I'm in a cell, and it stinks. And  _you_ , your majesty?"

"Well."

"See, repertoire built. And what good has it done?"

Mouth opening and closing uselessly, Elsa floundered for something to say. "W-well, now I know more about you. And that's good."

"Some would claim the opposite."

"I'm not some."

The door to the cell clanked as a heavy weight, presumably the prince, leaned against it. Elsa heard Hans sigh loudly, only a hint of a rasp in his breath, and say, "Yes, your majesty, but you're not most either. And disregarding the obvious chill about you, I'd offer that most people wouldn't find themselves spending their nights chatting up convicted felons. So if you'd like to talk, then let's talk about why you're here, yes?"

Elsa pulled the cloak tighter around herself. She could ask him why he wouldn't leave, but she was more scared of him asking her why she wanted him to. And that—that was a question she couldn't quite answer herself. Just the thought was a circle plagued by false steps and a maddening amount of eggshells. In an effort to divert him, she objected, "I'd think that a convicted felon charged with high treason would find himself a little more willing to plead for a reduced sentencing than to question the opportunity."

"Humor me."

"I," Elsa stammered, startled at his forward tone, "I have no reason to." She edged away from the cell and pulled her cloak tighter around herself, as if to stave off the questions. It already boggled the mind why he hadn't directly asked her why she'd broken the lock—she'd think that he'd have jumped at that. He had to have noticed. He fixed it!

And there was still the problem with his damned voice, which she was almost certain was  _wrong_  in some way. And the way his words kept coming; it was too fast, more sure than she'd have thought he'd be willing to seem. It was almost like he was trying to hide. But why? And would he let her get a word in sometime soon!

A cough came from the other side of the door, appearing to cover up a bark of laughter. There was that stritch-scratch noise again. Elsa shivered. No, there  _was_  something wrong. With the cough, it was just a bit too—

"Your majesty, that's what I  _always_  hear. No reason to stop the treatments, no reason to inform a son of his mother's passing, and no reason for the queen to be in her own dungeon. Which is quite the conundrum now when you take into account her continued presence. In fact, why don't you be a dear and hurry along? This dungeon is getting a little too chatty for my liking," Hans said neatly, his voice suddenly clear and quick, but just a moment too late.

Elsa jumped on the chance to speak. "You're hiding something."

"I assure you that that I'm not."

It was a little too late for assurances, not that she would ever take any from  _him_. Determined now, Elsa stepped forward and snatched the lock from the chain. As her fingers cooled, it cracked, but the chains still held. She shoved against them but they didn't so much as twitch. Eyes flickering over to the quickly cooling red edges of the doorway, Elsa realized why.

She only had a second's warning—sharp scratch of nails on metal, so familiar, so inhuman—before flames burst from the window of the cell door. Elsa threw up a shield of ice against it with a wave of her hand without thinking.

The roar came, monstrous and loud.  _"Stay away from me!"_

Not a flicker of the flames had touched her, like he'd known they wouldn't, but Elsa's hands still shook as they dropped to clutch against her stomach. How could he transition so quickly from man to beast? A second ago he had been smooth as a diplomat at the negotiating table and now— _now_ —

"W-why are you doing this?" Elsa whispered, hating herself for how soft her voice was. The door was cooling quickly on her side as flurries surged through the air from the byproduct of her internal conflict. She clenched her eyes as the words left her, breathless, "Why won't you even try…?"

His voice was cold, almost cracking with bitterness. "Why bother with a lost cause?"

"Because…" Elsa began, trying to think, trying to come up for a reason for why a monster could believe themselves deserving of a second chance. She came up with none, of course, which was no true surprise. Why should this time be different from any other time she'd tried to convince herself of the same?

Her voice died, quickly.

The only sound in the dungeon was the quiet hiss of steam as it rose from the blighted door, besieged as it was from the differing fronts of ice and fire on its sides. Elsa pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she prepared to leave, the moment Hans began to speak again with his low, cultured voice.

"So, even you don't—"

He broke off suddenly, coughing loudly. It was an awful sound, wet and painful. Elsa winced despite herself. She'd known he was hiding something, but this…

When the attack passed, he took several clearing breaths, still wheezing. She could hear him shuddering through his uneven breaths.

Elsa felt a stab of guilt pass through her, the pieces finally coming together in her mind. This was her fault too wasn't it? Being soaked in ice water wasn't conducive to any sort of good health, much less that of a fire-based being. Even if he'd deserved it, wasn't it more of a commentary on her that she'd let her powers get the best of her again? She only wanted to stop him from hurting Anna, she'd never meant to—to—

_Snow queen snow queen snow queen—_

As his coughs died down, his voice came out hoarse and condemning, "And that, your majesty…is exactly all you need to know."

Elsa couldn't quite bring herself to say anything after that, so she just turned on her heels and hurried back up the stairs. Her cloak whirled with the motion and a bitter laugh followed her the entire way up, through the winding corridors and dark turns like a lover lost and searching.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, school had me pretty damn preoccupied. Short-ish update, but mainly cause there's like a looooot of shipping stuff in the next chapter and the story fulfills its quota of sickfic! Also thinking of changing the summary, anyone have any ideas?

Elsa knew it was a dream the moment she opened her eyes.

The royal hall was just a touch off, the colors muted, the faces blurry and vaguely disapproving despite that. It was a memory pulled straight from the worst part of her, and she knew that. She  _knew_  that.

But knowing didn't matter.

Her hands were still straight at her sides, her feet were still stuck following the same patterns, the slow march up the aisle to her eventual coronation. Part of her was quite aware she'd already gone through with this, but it was quiet as the rest of her mind screamed in panic and fear. Senseless emotion clawed its way up her chest and throat, carving deep gouges in her self-restraint. They were upset at her, those whose faces she couldn't make out. They were very, very upset because she wasn't being a good girl anymore.

_Snow_ , they scoffed as she knelt her head for the crown, its usual shape distorted into a crystal mockery.

_Queen_ , they hissed as she gingerly took hold of the scepter, which was no more than a sharp shard of ice.

She turned numbly to face them, wanting nothing more than to scream, to  _wail_  past the blockage in her seizing throat at the sight before her. Their faces were blurry. Their faces were cruel. Their faces were frozen in eternal disappointment, for good reason.

Queen Elsa of Arendelle stood somber before a court of ice statues, soft flurries dancing around her in a slow spiral.

It was always going to happen.

It was always going to be like this.

It was always going to—

_Plink_.

Something fell atop her head.  _Plink_. Again.

Without thinking, Elsa broke from the script and looked up just as everything melted around her.

A wall of water fell suddenly and terribly. She could barely manage a yell before she was swept away, coughing and spitting liquid from her lungs until she slammed against a hard surface. Her hands were burning, the chill of the staff having carved impossible welts in her skin that hadn't been soothed by the ice water. Her eyes had shut sometime during the wave. They clenched tighter as she kneeled and hacked up what seemed to be the rest of it. This couldn't--

A roar blasted her into awareness, a wave of heat replacing the water. Screams of absolute agony followed soon after, torturous wails that could barely be heard over the rampage of the monster, and Elsa's heart broke despite her confusion. Who was doing this? Who was attacking those poor people?

She had to…

She had to see…

She had to  _know_ …

The screams got louder, begging mercy and death. Her eyes snapped open just in time for the sharp claws of the monster to dig into her skull.

.

.

.

Elsa woke with a shudder, a slow crawl of the skin that should have been worse.

That was…goodness, that had been  _terrible_.

She shuddered again and it rippled through her entire body. The sheets on her bed were suddenly far too constricting, so she stripped them off without a thought, only to wince as her fingers bent awkwardly. Must have slept on them; there was no other reason for them to be so numb now.

Sighing, Elsa rose to her feet, sliding off the ridiculously large mattress. She hadn't wanted to move into the royal suite, much less stay in a bed that could easily hold twenty of her, but it was tradition. At least now with her secret out the servants could clean it regularly. She didn't miss the lengthy process of tucking in her sheets day and in and out, not when the practice had started when she was barely big enough to carry them.

She dressed with a wave of her hand, a gown of ice that needed no help to put on. Elsa admitted again that she didn't miss having to lace up her own clothes, however much it had taught her discipline as a child. Her mother had done it at first, but after her powers had become too erratic Elsa had begged to be allowed to do it herself. It had been an awful argument, and one that had ended in tears from both sides.

Yes, she remembered now, that had been right before they'd gone out to sea…

Lost in her memories, Elsa barely registered the sun filtering in through the curtains. When she did, she huffed to herself. While she'd always prided herself on being an early riser, it was near ridiculous how little sleep she would get after daybreak. Her body just rebelled against it, the nightmares about the battle worsening every hour she dared to sleep in.

No matter. She had a lot to get done today; the extra hours could only help her. Elsa clenched her still tingling hands and straightened. Yes.

She was going to—to figure out what to do!

.

.

.

Waiting was one thing. Hesitating was another.

The morning rush of Anna and all that included, which happened to be three chickens and several large rocks on this day, swept Elsa away and almost kept her busy enough to forget the night before.

But not even Anna's attempts at a makeshift sling for her pet rocks could keep her mind from wondering.

What did one do in situations like this?

In preparations for queen, Elsa had been taught everything necessary for ruling a kingdom. Despite the fact that half her kingdom was still in snow and the other half was sopping wet from the battle between her and the Dragon Prince. The water damage had been extensive and much of the royal treasury was going towards compensating those whose homes were lost. But yet she was still a queen, even if it was a queen of a kingdom half ruined by her own hand.

She could do sums, negotiate trade agreements, decree all manner of laws, and even keep polite conversation up with visiting dignitaries for as long as needed. The last one had surprisingly come most in handy lately, although not in the way most would have expected. In fact, nothing about this was going the way anyone would have expected, much less Elsa.

And as usual, there was only one person to ask.

Anna stared at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted antlers. "Huh?"

The words had been on the tip of her tongue all day, and only now had they slipped, in the middle of Anna's rant about how those strange rocks of her were truly visiting relatives of Kristoff, a peculiar affair that Elsa told herself was likely her younger sister dealing with the stress of the past few days.

Straightening up, she repeated herself, "I was wondering if you knew the proper treatment for someone who is…sick."

"Well…uh, maybe? Wait, do you have a cold? Is it bad? Can you even  _get_  colds?"

"No, it's not for me! I've noticed some of maids looking off lately, and wondered if there was anything we could do to prepare the eventuality. After all, if anyone got a cold in this weather, it would likely be due to my…" Elsa trailed off, looking away. A small part of her felt guilty at the gasp Anna gave as she pieced it together.

"Oh! Oh….Well, I'm not exactly sure, but last time I was sick they gave me hot soup and some weird green herby stuff from the kitchens. You can go ask! The nice maids, not the ones that call you names behind your back, those lousy…" she snarled, looking mutinous. Elsa was beginning to rethink the logic of asking Anna for advice. "Hey, I can go ask with you and tell them off, let's go!" Anna grinned suddenly and grabbed her arm, dragging her forward. Elsa panicked at the sudden touch and pulled away.

The look on Anna's face almost made her wish she'd never asked this stupid question. "Sorry," Elsa began, icy hands clenched into white fists, "I'm just not…"

"Oh, um, yea…of course…"

The room went quiet for a bit, until Kristoff lumbered in, smiling and breaking whatever tension had been festering. While Anna found herself preoccupied by her paramour's enthusiastic entrance and subsequent kiss, Elsa slid to the side and left before anyone could notice her. Doubtless they would be busy for quite a while.

The kitchen were easy enough to find, and the help were frantic for a moment at the sight of her until she explained that she was only here to pick up some things. At this, they calmed, but still looked wary. Hopefully Anna had not reproached them yet, that would make everything  _dreadful_  and Elsa was determined to avoid that.

At the request of some herbs that would help with coughing, pleading that Anna wasn't feeling well, Elsa found herself being handed a great many substances. It appeared that the staff remembered the last time the princess had been ill, and did not care to repeat it.

"Yes, well, I do thank you for your…assistance, " Elsa said awkwardly as she attempted to balance the jars in her hands on her way out. They promised to send up a pot of soup later to her door, so she would be able to wait on her sister herself.

One of the cooks tittered, "Oh, it's not that we wouldn't if you ordered us, just that…oh, it's just that it's so much  _better_  if you do it yourself, your highness. If you really want to!"

Something told her that Anna had been less than a respectable princess the last time she'd fallen ill. Elsa sighed, struggling enough to carry the things, deciding that now was not the time to start worrying exactly what her sister had gotten up to during her isolation. She could have been sick dozens of time and Elsa would never have known. Or been any help.

Her spirits suddenly sagged and the jars of putrid smelling moss with it. Elsa yelped and struggled to get them back in order, pushing all thoughts of the past from her mind. No use of pondering her own shortcomings; that was an endeavor that would last quite into the night if she let it keep going.

By the time she reached her quarters, her arms were quite sore. Strange that she would be able to climb great distances across a frozen wasteland without stopping, but a few measly jars bogged her down. She groaned aloud. Irony at its finest.

But yet, as she hid them all away neatly behind her dresser...well, Elsa couldn't remember her hands ever feeling better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick short chapter, only cause I'm swamped with school work. This is actually half of a huge chapter, so the next one'll be way bigger, promise. Also next chapter is actually way more sweet/sad/SICKFIC/those three words p much describe this entire story

It was simple enough to slip away that night, as Elsa soon realized.

Anna’s misguided attempt at a rock holding bag was perfect for carrying all the jars necessary for a full recovery, and it was simpler still to take it when her sister fell asleep early while playing piano. In truth, _on_ the piano. Elsa would have to have a word with her later about proper napping habits, and namely, not to nap where subjects could gawk and poke. She hustled away after laying a blanket over her sister, wondering on how _easy_ this all seemed.

Where were the guards? The alarms? How did anyone not just look at her and see the truth of what she was about to do written across her face? Elsa worried herself on simplicity and duplicity as she gathered up the jars hidden neatly behind her old dresses. She had no need for the things now that she could simply wish clothes into existence, and ones that fit far better. The colossus and useless closet was the perfect place to hide whatever she wished.

 _But for how long?_ , Elsa bit her bottom lip ragged as and thought, _because someone's bound to realize at some point, someone's bound to find out, and—and doing such a terrible, horrible, misbehaving thing shouldn't be so easy!_

Although the soup was no easy weight itself. The kitchen staff appeared to take the same point of view with it as they did with all of Anna’s meals—the bigger, the better. As such, Elsa found herself breathing a little hard as she approached the end of the stairs. She heaved the pot down with a scratchy wheeze. Okay. Maybe a little worse than a little hard. In thinking of all the consequences and the dirty looks that would come out of someone finding out, she might have hustled a bit too much.

She waited a few seconds to gather her breath, an endeavor that was impeded every time she remembered what exactly was behind that door. Elsa shuddered and wrung her still aching fingers. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to be considering at this moment, but like most things, she couldn't help it.

Was he still there? How would he react? She had come bearing food and help but what was to say he wouldn't throw all of that back in her face—again? Maybe…

Elsa sucked in a breath and politely told herself off. She had started this, so she would finish this. Afterwards she would give herself a nice quiet moment to contemplate what exactly _this_ was, but for now, she had a prince to save. Under her breath, she said resolutely, "And if he dies, Arendelle's political record will suffer. That's one thing I am _not_ adding to my reign."

With a swift nod of her head, Elsa waved her hand and let a gust of icy wind swing the dungeon door open. She gathered the pot and jars and passed through them, preparing herself for the vitriol and sharp comments she would doubtless receive.

None came.

She stood there, outside the cells, a few minutes more. Not a sound made its way out. Her arms quaked with what she hoped was only the strain of holding all the medicine.

When the silence got too much for her to bear, Elsa called out, “Prince Hans? Are you there?”

She listened quietly for an answer that never came. Not a huff of indignation, nor a hiss of annoyance. Nothing.

Panic, pure and strange, seized her chest.

Elsa's hands were on the fragmented lock and tearing it apart before she could even register that she’d moved forward. The door swung open and she pushed through, eyes scanning for any trace of the regal figure from her memories, the dashing prince that had cut a path through even the most obstinate of royals, who had spun her little sister around the dance floor with the air of a professional, who—

Was crumpled against the wall and could easily have been mistaken for a pile of dirty clothes.

Her panic ebbed, slowly, replacing itself with a quiet horror. Was he…

The grey mass suddenly shuddered as a low moan filtered out. A head, copper hair matted with dark stains of blood, peered from the blankets.

A wave of relief crashed over her. Elsa took a step forward, hand outstretched. She could make out his face, barely, and with his sunken eyes and growing hair it was hard to even think of him as the strutting man of just a week ago. Her voice rang through the cell, “Prince Hans? Prince Hans, are you all well? Respond if—"

His eyes snapped open.

Elsa supposed in some dark part of her mind that they were green, once. Now they weren't much of anything. Wild and hazy with delirium, they searched through the room until they landed on her. They contracted into thin slits, then flared, like open flames thirsty for air.

A hiss, _"You."_

The creature with the glowing eyes and bared fangs gave a snarl and lunged, and she raised a hand to stop him. It wasn't needed.

The man—beast— _thing_ crumpled before he could even raise himself up, his shaky knees giving out as he fell. At the last moment, he managed to catch himself with his hands, of which the fingers were red and tipped with viciously sharp claws. As they dragged along the cobbles, a sick _screech_ cut through the air. A gasp, _"Don't look. At me. DON'T LOOK—"_

Elsa gasped and almost flinched back, not at the sound, but at the flames that suddenly leaped across the dragon prince's skin. His eyes clenched in some kind of pain as he tried to pick himself up, but he seemed oblivious to the swirling mass of fire that crawled along his back and fizzled as they reached the floor. The sickness had rendered him incapable of even the most meager control of his powers.

 _I knew_ , Elsa thought distantly, not relishing the fact she had guessed it. There was no pride to be had here, and her eyebrows knit together as she let her eyes fall. 

Because it was one thing to know. It was another to see it so obvious. Her heart wrung at the pathetic sounds of struggle he made, the sharp catches of breath from a weak lung, the soft huffs of exertion from just trying to stand. She didn't want to see. She didn't want to know. Not _this_.

The beast caught the look on her face and sneered, like he about to say something particularly biting.  A shudder overtook him before he could. She could see him lose consciousness right there, fighting every second, but his face going pale as he sunk to the ground at her feet. Elsa blinked and wished she had someone she could ask what the proper thing to do was. Her hands were clenched against her stomach, wringing themselves. Useless. 

Part of her stood anchored there, watching strange patches of glittering skin flicker across his arms and feet—oh, those were  _scales._  

Her mouth fell open a little as she took them in.

And they were—were _gorgeous_.

Not just red, but gold, melting into copper and a gold so polished she could swear it was taken from the royal treasury. A light glow emitted whenever they flickered in and out. Elsa found herself watching the colors as they spiraled in and out, a kaleidoscope of intensity. Across his hands, his face, dots of scarlet on his neck that disappeared under his ragged shirt. She was so taken by the sight that when the person attached to them launched into a coughing fit, she jumped to action.

Of a sort.

Kneeling, Elsa reached a hand out towards the still body of the prince. It hung in the hair, shaking slightly.

He didn't react.

She held her breath and leaned further.

At some point she began to breathe fast, some nameless fear seizing her. What if—

Soft hair brushed against her fingertips and her eyes snapped open.

Strange, she couldn't remember closing them. Blinking the confusion away, Elsa moved her fingers, clutching a few strands of the alarmingly red hair and curling them.

Dirty, yes, but _soft_.

She hadn't thought it would be soft.

Elsa moved closer, sliding across the dirty cell floor. If her skirts grew dirty, she paid them no mind. At her first touch against his temple, he shuddered. She went still, but he made no further movements and so she continued her inspection.

His skin was dirty, and any patches of it still visible were far too pale. She wondered whether the guards had actually been giving him food, because in his present state she hardly thought he'd eaten for days. For the amount of time he'd been here, at least. She would have to talk to them about that, and impress on them the importance of not letting a political prisoner die of negligence. Even if he was a fire breathing dragon at times.

 _Yes, he tried to burn them alive, but that doesn't mean they have to forgo all protocol_ , Elsa thought and huffed. Honestly, these guards. She had to invest in better training for them, it was obvious, and something she was going to put right on her royal to-do list. Now, all she had to do was find a guard captain that was both capable and completely loyal to her. She sighed, twisting a curl of red with her fingers. That was going to be a _challenge_. Her gaze fell back on the ragged prince. And definitely _not_ her biggest one.

To her surprise, even as she thought and peered at the drawn skin on his cheeks, Hans didn't so much as stir. Was he really so lost?

Then, curious, she dragged her thumb across the beautiful red scales on his brow. That was the wrong thing to do.

Suddenly the creature's eyes clicked open and, letting out a noise, he grabbed her hand.

Elsa held her breath, icicles already gathering in her palm.

But he didn't attack.

Rather, Hans pressed his face against the frigid ice of her hands and let out a shaky moan. Oh...

_Oh!_

He was _burning_.

Elsa's hands almost charred at the mere touch, an uncomfortable sensation that she wasn't used to. Elsa took a breath and gathered more of the cold. Steam rose from where their skin met. He didn't move, but the strain on his brow lessened some. The maids had said that if the sickness was bad enough, it was more important to lower the fever than to force unwanted medicine. Elsa wondered if this fever was even natural. Could it just be his body’s own reaction to such an out swelling of power like the one he’d unleashed? Like the swirling masses of fire he’d launched towards the guards, the white-hot jets of flame he’d used to demolish the boats and…the…

Something in her eyes grew dark at the memory. Elsa grew still, her fingers trapped in his.

For a few moments back in the fight, Hans had been better than her.

He’d summoned waves of fire and pulled magma from under the earth itself, hardly noticing as he snarled at her with teeth entirely too sharp. His attacks had been relentless and powerful, forcing her to build structures larger than palaces simply to contain them from striking the populace.

Only when they’d begun to duel on the lake had he began to falter, just as her fear was reaching its peak. The water had inhibited him, especially as it gathered around him where he stood on the icy landscape. There was no doubt in her mind now that if he even had the barest control over his flames as she did her ice, the entire kingdom would be in ruins.

But he hadn't.

Didn't.

Not in the least.

Elsa watched the strange creature before her, his face sallow with sickness and unnatural patches flickering in and out of existence all over his body. Scales glittered, stuck in place on his brow, only to taper off as they neared his temple. His breath came in fast gasps of steam. His back curved unnaturally, as if adjusting for another weight. She watched, and thought, _monster_.

There was no way anyone would mistake this creature for the dashing prince of just days ago, no way anyone would do anything other than cringe at the very sight of him, run at the length of his claws, raise a hunting party at the sharpness of those two short fangs that bit into his lips. Prince Hans was rotted, from the core to the skin, and nothing would ever change that.

And yet he held her hands, ice cold and sky touched, like they were the only things in the world keeping him alive.

Elsa watched, and thought, _monster..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! I have chapters written again, but I edit them so much every time I post that it takes ages for me to put them up. Not to mention that schoolwork is terrible and who exactly let me TAKE six classes???
> 
> Either way, man. Update!

Elsa stared at him for a bit after that.

Not sure whether it was unfamiliarity or just plain strangeness that kept her eyes fixed, caught by the way his breath would catch when she pressed her fingers close to his brow, she let him take his comfort from her cold. His eyelids flickered in a restless sleep, and Elsa wished she knew what he was dreaming about. It didn't seem to be very good.

Peculiar affair that the movement of his eyes in sleep was, Elsa almost completely forgot about the soup, remembering quite suddenly that she shouldn't let it cool any more. She realized soon after that there was no real chance of the soup 'cooling' in this dungeon.

The room was absolutely burning. To say the least. Her own skin was overcompensating just to be able to sit without flushing. Or melting—a genuine worry when your clothes were made of snow. Thankfully her dress was stronger than any normal ice, although she was forced to thicken it the longer she sat near him.

Any normal person would have long been forced out from this broiler of a cell.

Elsa bit her lips slightly as she pulled her hands away from his face. Almost delusional from fever at this point, he struggled to let them go. His strength was beastly. She tried again, swifter this time, and managed to dislodge him. His face after he realized they were gone was almost pitiful, lips twisting into agony, fingers scraping against the floor in search. She paused.

No one had ever missed her touch, not like that.

Something foreign swelled within her, making her chest clench painfully. Elsa shook it off and stood again, reaching for the makeshift bag of supplies. She supposed that it would be better to try the strongest medicine first, if he was anything like her. Her childhood, isolated as it was, had ensured that she'd rarely fallen ill. But when she had, it had never ended well.

No one had ever known what to do with her. As a small child, no regular medicine seemed to help. Trial and error never seemed an option either, since her powers were even more unwieldy when she was sick, lashing out at most anything and anyone. Most who got near found themselves frostbitten in minutes, even if they were only trying to change her sheets after she'd gotten sick all over them.

It had always been simpler to give her the strongest dose and hope it went away all the faster. Troll intervention was often necessary. She'd gotten ill a few times from it, but never too badly, and it was always a relief when the sickness passed.

Elsa could only hope that he was the same, however strange a thought that was.

Adjusting her skirts again this time, she laid the fragile jars on the seemingly unused cot. Her dress was too thin for this, and hardening it would make the entire thing unwieldy. Thinking hard, she changed its form. The ice shifted to her whim, forming trousers and a shirt, the ice thicker to compensate for the heat. Better.

He hadn't moved from his place on the floor, and she took this time to shift him into a more comfortable position. Eyeing the cot, she figured that he would prefer to wake up later atop it rather than passed out on the floor. Although that cot did seem to have a little burn and tear about it. Hmmm. She looked between him and the makeshift bed once again. It would help her piece of mind to just have him there. That way she could pretend that there wasn't a very likely chance of him burning through the stone floor as he writhed around in fever. The only obstacle now was in getting him there.

Elsa didn't fool herself thinking even with her powers she could lift a fully grown man, but she could manage to drag him a short distance. At least he wasn't built like Kristoff, or she would've given up right there. She huffed at the thought. Why did men find it necessary to be so bulky? It only made things harder.

Groaning, she held onto his shoulders and pulled. It would be easier to administer everything if he were sitting up.

Her only warning was a bitten off snarl.

He started at the cool touch of her hands on his neck, eyes snapping open, wild and green and oh,  _burning_. Launching out with his fists flying, he struggled as if the devil itself had him in its clutches. One elbow managed to clip her stomach and she fell back with an  _oomph_. Still shaky on his feet, he followed.

The crack of the wall against her skull was painful. Elsa went still and watched lights flicker before her eyes. That had hurt. A lot. Her body felt almost heavier now. Looking down, she noted that it might not be her body.

Well. That was a way of doing things.

Finding herself on the cot with a treacherous prince tangled around her, Elsa just signed and tried not to jostle him too badly as she sat up. Not that it seemed possible to even move him at this point, what with the death grip his arm had around her waist. She would have to do this the hard way—or the easy way, depending on how you looked at it.

With a flick of her hand, a gust of icy wild appeared and ghosted through the cell. Even in the heat, it held strong and she thanked it for that. It spun around the strange green vials, which looked uncannily like troll moss, and lifted them easily. They clanked together in the breeze.

She carefully plucked them the air, not wanting to break anything. The soup was easier, as it was nearer. Another wave of her hand and it gusted towards her. Elsa smiled. These powers did come in handy at times. Lifting the lid, she was pleased to note that there was already a ladle. Good. She had forgotten bowls.

Before anything else, she looked down again. He was still out, although the cheek he had pressed against her thigh was concerning. He was still far too warm.

Hands already iced over and ready, Elsa smoothed the hair around his face. It really was soft. His breathing began to even out. He had the beginnings of a beard growing around his jaw, scruffy and untamed. Elsa poked it once in curiosity before moving on. She traced the skin around his eyes, wondering if they were still in the draconic slits of green from previous.

He shuddered slightly as she brushed her thumb over the freckles on his cheeks. It was almost ridiculous. They were so like Anna's, like the freckles Elsa herself always wanted when she was younger. Freckles had always seemed so fun, something to count when you were bored and alone.

And now she did. Five…eight…ten…eleven…twelve…thir-

Another shiver. Oh, right. Elsa almost hit herself. This was not the time to get lost in childish memories. His hands clutched at the cool fabric of her shirt in the back, fingers almost digging into her sides. She resisted the urge to wriggle away from the strange heat of his body. She doubted he'd let her, first of all.

Second of all, this was a new feeling.

Warmth.

Things had to be very,  _very_  warm to make her feel it. Judging by the unfamiliar heat seeping through her makeshift pants, he was giving off enough to burn a regular person.  _Severely_  burn them.

Biting her lip, Elsa hoped hard that this was the first time he'd been like this. But a terrifying suspicion in the back of her mind whispered different.

With a sigh, Elsa ladled out as small a cup of soup as she could. He wouldn't be able to keep down more than that. She mixed in some of the medicine with it, knowing firsthand how vile the stuff was. Some of the cook's delicious food had always gone a long way in getting her to take it.

Lowering it to his face, she prodded his mouth open, pressing the warm metal ladle closer. He frowned and tried to move his head. Elsa held him still, a careful hand on the side of his face. As he protested again, she murmured a low reproach, "Come now…"

Finally, still looking pained, he began to drink.

The first gulp was sloppy, most of the soup ending up on the side of his mouth. The next was a little better, but only just. She massaged his throat with her free hand, trying to get him to swallow as much as he could.

Once the taste began to register, he took in more and more, until pot was nearly half gone. Elsa stifled a smirk. Now he had an appetite. Well, he shouldn't eat too much. She doubted the guards would feed him for a while, not until she talked to them. The rest of the soup could be used when he returned to wakefulness and found himself more hungry than before. Yes, that would work quite well.

Waving her hand again, she send the jars and pot flying off the bed. Only the smallest noise signaled their touching down on the floor. It was, however, more than enough.

The prince's eyes flickered open. Elsa went very still.

They opened and closed, dazed and obviously sickly. His lips curled into a frown, eyebrows knitting together in something close to pain.

 _"_ _I'm sorry."_

As he groaned again, slow and dazed seconds after his exhaled exaltation, Elsa found herself blinking in confusion. Did he just—

A rough voice, but so, so young, "I-I didn't mean it, please—"

Something in her stomach churned. Despite herself, she licked her lips. Should she?

"Please. Please, I'm sorry," trailing off in the whimper of a boy who didn't even know what he was apologizing for.

She brushed the hair away from his face and said softly, "Prince? What are you talking about?"

He shuddered, right against her, cheek pressing against her lap. "My fault, always my fault."

"I," Elsa cut off, pursing her lips. Her chest was clenching again, whoops and whirls of confusion and strangeness zipping around. What was she supposed to do? To say? She fidgeted slightly as his arms tightened around her waist. She'd also never been this close to someone else, not since she was very, very young. It was an unsettling feeling.

But not bad, not exactly.

"I'm-I'm sorry," another strangled moan, one that would have never left his mouth if not for the fever. His head twisted so his cheek was pillowed against her thigh, the heat alarming. A shiver ran down her back. A temperature like that would burn a normal person. It simply unsettled her, in ways she wasn't sure how to handle.

"Prince—Hans," Elsa decided finally, brushing his head aside so that she could stare into his feverish, inhuman eyes. "Calm yourself, it's only a dream. Prince…"

His mouth twisted painfully, still lost in the nightmare. Something bitter grew inside Elsa, growing since the first conversation. No one should have to fear their sleeping mind. No one should apologize to ghosts.

No one should have to fear their own family.

So she placed a cool hand on his cheek, causing him to pause, and said, "It's alright, Hans. You're safe. You're not in the Southern Isles anymore and there's no need to apologize because I forgive you—"

The moment Elsa registered the words, she went very, very quiet.

Hans only sighed softly, as if releasing all of his regrets, and let his eyes close. He fell into a calm sleep moments later, head pillowed against her lap. His temperature felt remarkably lower now.

Which left Elsa to frantically push away any realization she had. She hadn't—she wouldn't. She had actually just forgiven the man the doing all this, no. She was—was just saying it to—but why had it just slipped out?

Her previous smile wiped itself off her face faster than she could breathe.

What was she doing?

Oh god, what was she  _doing_?

She was going mad, monster of a woman whose mind was going the way of her soul. His weight in her lap was too heavy, her chest tight with guilt. He had tried to kill Anna. He had tried to take her kingdom. He had tried to ruin everything. He deserved—he deserved  _death_  for what he had tried to do, not her forgiveness!

As if feeling the change in her mood, annoyance flickered across his face. A noise of irritation made its way from his parted lips.

Elsa watched him. Her hand raised slowly, dangerous white shards forming on the tips of her fingers. The air around her cooled as she narrowed her eyes.

Hans felt the chill, ugly and unnatural as it was.

And he only sighed, turning his head and burrowing deeper in her lap, his warm brow strange pressed against her thigh. Another sigh, and the steam of his breath left her skin tingling across her knee. A patch on her pants melting, letting the air skirt over the open skin. Warm.

The ice around her hand flickered out of existence, all intent leaving her in a rush. Foreign pain began to clench in her breast, tight and unrelenting.

Nothing she did would be right, could ever be right.

It was with an iron will that she pulled away from him, nudging him off her lap. He resisted at first, but she refused to fall into this again. She gave a desperate shove and he released her with a muted noise of loss.

Away from her, he seemed small again, a curled up figure on the same cot she slept on only days ago. She had to clench her fists at her sides to keep from reaching out when a flicker of pain traveled across his face. She clenched it so hard her palm screamed from the bite of her icy nails, reminded herself what the kingdom would think. What _Anna_ would think.

Only when she felt the impulse fade did Elsa look around her. The walls were solid, yes, but parts seemed almost…melted. Nothing suggesting an escape attempt, but they were horrid to look at. Melted iron and smoldering stone. The floor was much the same, thick indents that almost looked like footsteps. The bed was a mess of scraps, torn and dirty sheets that seemed clawed apart. There were deeper scratches on the door, thin and dangerous. And in it all, a thick heat radiated from the room itself, clogging to the senses.

It was like standing in the belly of the beast.

Swallowing the thought, Elsa left the rest of the medicine and dregs of soup and hurried out the door, feeling like she'd trespassed somewhere where she really shouldn't have. Her sides screamed from the exertion, but at least it was better than letting them tingle strangely from loss of touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, Hans wasn't actually apologizing to Elsa. Fever dreams man. They fuck you up. Part of me wants to write this from Hans perspective, but that perspective ain't gonna be much more than "stone wall. stone wall. queen bothering me. stone wall. Queen bothering me again. Stone wall with gouges on it. Wish I had nail trimmer."
> 
> I might actually do one from his perspective, but we gotta get at least halfway through before that. And this isn't halfway through, augh. There's like, three more chapters before that. Also a lot of plot. And politics? Fun stuff.


End file.
